Changes
by QueenStrata
Summary: Summary: Dream a little dream. Live a little lie. Change to tell the truth.


A/N: Wrote this while I was over my cousin's…came out a lot better than I expected it to. I was reading through my folder of poetry and, for some reason or another, this poem popped out at me as a good poem to use for Neville. It's not my best (the poem), but it fit and it brought about a story…. So here we go! 

Warnings: I guess…he's way OOC, but you know. People change. Even him.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters mentioned in this fic; they belong to Rowling. I do however own the story itself and the poem within. Don't take my poem. I'll pout.

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Title: Changes   


  
Dream— 

_bring forward your courage_

_to defeat the Evils_

_who try to destroy you_

Neville Longbottom turned restlessly in his bed, mind plagued with the nightmares he'd been having every time he'd slept since that fateful night in the Department of Mysteries. It was always the same—the terrifying ride on the back of those reptilian horses all the way to London, the claustrophobia of having five people squeezed into a tiny phone booth, the tense confusion of the revolving room and the aisles of silvery prophecies, and the attack, the Death Eaters…Sirius Black falling through the antique veil…. The dreams were almost exactly what happened, and they never changed.

But tonight was different. Tonight, when he shouted the words that he had hoped would stop the Death Eaters from hurting Harry, the power flowed through his wand and blasted Lucius Malfoy off his feet. Tonight, when Black was hit with the spell that would make him fall, he had been there to save his life. Tonight, Neville Longbottom had been a hero.

And then, he woke up. Looked at where he was—and, for the first time he could remember, he had truly cried.

Live— 

_be your own person,_

_take your time,_

_win the battles you face._

When he finally returned to Hogwarts, he had changed. Everyone told him so. Hermione would say that he seemed more intense—whatever that meant. Harry would grin and tell him that it was about bloody time, a sentiment Neville fully agreed to. The rest of his peers told him that it was good to see him unafraid of his own shadow—a few girls told him he was looking _much_ better and winked at him. (He had blushed every time the last one had happened. Thankfully enough, it wasn't very often.) Ron, being Ron, just told him he was nutters.

Neville would shrug and grin sheepishly at most of the people. But the Slytherins required a different response. So when one would compliment him with a confusing insult, he would glare or frown and act as if it truly mattered just so things wouldn't seem so odd.

Inside, he was glowing.

Love— 

_because it helps you discover_

_the truths of all the_

_wonders you have seen._

One night, Neville needed help. Before, he would just sit and glower at his paper or book, willing it to give him the answer. But he was tired of being helpless, so he gathered his courage and walked over to where the Golden Trio was sitting. He shyly asked Hermione for help. The girl looked faintly surprised, but smiled at him and agreed. A quick reading of his essay later, Neville was given two books and shooed off.

That night, he fell in love—or some form of it, at least. He learned to love learning.

The next day, Snape found him sitting in the library with his nose stuck in a book, and delivered him a back-handed compliment. Neville returned as good as he got. The tall man raised an eyebrow and gave him a detention.

Neville found that he didn't care. When Snape finally left, he just grinned and returned to his Potions book.

Trust— 

_believe in yourself;_

_they will never expect you_

_when you're strong. _

Detention was a laugh. When Neville showed up, he expected to be given the most horrible task imaginable. But instead there was a cauldron set up on a table and instructions on the board. He was shocked—this was the potion he had been reading about in the library. Snape snarled at him to get started.

A couple hours later, the potion was completed. He called Snape over and stepped away from the table, eying the Potions Master in trepidation. Snape took his time ladling a bit of the potion out and letting it slowly trickle back into the cauldron. He seemed satisfied and, for the first time ever, gave a flat-out compliment. Neville tried not to look too happy when he was ordered to return the next night.

Over the remaining nights of that year, he learned many different things from his mentor about both Potions and Defense. But most importantly, he was taught to trust himself and believe in himself no matter what other people said.

Die— 

_become what you desire,_

_top your greatest achievement_

_while you know you can._

When the final battle came, Neville was ready. He took his place with the rest of Dumbledore's Army, stood proud beside the Golden Trio, wan out and ready for the attack. Nobody seemed to find the need to deny him this battle, for which Neville was grateful. It was time for his revenge.

He was the first of the D.A. besides Harry to jump forward to duel. They threw curses and hexes at Bellatrix Lestrange, both determined to make her regret everything she had done. Together, they made one of the most formidable teams of the Light side. Together, they defeated not only Bellatrix, but three other Death Eaters as well.

But then, finally, Voldemort found them. The snake-like eyes were narrowed in anger as he stared at the two of them, taken aback. He obviously hadn't expected to fight anyone besides Harry. But the shock was only temporary, and the Dark Lord was the first to cast a spell. And he didn't start small. Neville and Harry watched as the green light sped toward the defenseless Boy-Who-Lived.

Neville didn't stop to think. Seconds before the curse would hit, he jumped right in front of his friend. Distantly, he could hear Harry cry out for him to move. But he didn't; he instead demanded that Harry would let this happen, as it was meant to.

That day, Neville Longbottom had died a hero.

And somewhere in St. Mungo's, a woman had cried.

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A/N: …Well, it seemed like a good idea when I wrote it. And I like the last two lines. :)


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